


Ghosts

by Dansnotavampire



Series: Tumblr Prompts [2]
Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Drinking, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post-Finale, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 13:52:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13342590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dansnotavampire/pseuds/Dansnotavampire
Summary: "Do you believe in ghosts, Warren?"





	Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Dialogue prompt on [Tumblr](http://www.dansnotavampire.tumblr.com). I should make a series of these sometime

"Do you believe in ghosts, Warren?" Daniel asks. He doesn't get an answer. He knew he wouldn't, knows he never will again, and yet a pang of pain, of disappointed anguish still hits him. "I didn't," he says, leaning his forehead against the smooth, cold surface of Warren's gravestone, "Not until this. Not until you and Maxwell were gone." He inhales a deep, shuddering breath; tears threaten to fall from his eyes. 

"I see you everywhere, now. Something about computers in the news, and I still send the link to Maxwell's - to _Alana's_ \- old number. I tried to send you a photo of a dog, yesterday. A German shepherd. Big, strong animal. Like the one you showed me a photo of, once, that your father used to own." 

He gulps from the shitty bottle of vodka in his hand, the burn in his throat only a reminder that he can still feel this, that he's still alive. 

He's not quite sure he wants to be. 

"There's a bottle, in my liquor cabinet. Whiskey. Balvenie, to be precise. Bal-ven-ie. That's how you'd say it. Slow. Agonisingly slow, if I'm honest. That's how you spoke though, isn't it. It felt like you took five fucking years to get one word out, at times. 

"Still, that's not what I'm talking about. I should throw the whiskey out, I know. Or drink it, even if only to remind myself that that flavour belonged to the whiskey first, not to your lips. I won't, though. Won't drink it, won't throw it away, won't do anything to it except let it sit and collect dust, for the same reason that I won't delete Maxwell's number. 

"I'd rather just have your ghosts than not have you at all."


End file.
